


The Sweetness Follows

by Talullah



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-07-13
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 13:34:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2193675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/pseuds/Talullah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erestor is hurt and has trouble accepting love. Both are young, confused and make many, many mistakes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/132238694@N03/26497533899/in/dateposted-public/)
> 
> Many thanks to mirasaui for her support of a newbie. This fic is for her.
> 
> I thank enismirdal for betaing this piece. Any remaining mistakes are solely mine.
> 
> This fic was inspired by R.E.M.'s "Sweetness Follows", Tori Amos's 'Honey' and 'Caught a Lite Sneeze'. The last sex scene is a small homage to 'Tiny dancer', by B. Taupin.
> 
> Big thanks to slayer9649 for providing the plot line to place Erestor in Gondolin, for the Elvish names and for enlightenment on some other aspects. Writing the repercussions of her plot line into the Erestor I had was fascinating and terribly hard.
> 
> Citations: "Nothing shows a man's character more than what he laughs at" - Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe; "Sweet is to live alone" is a verse from "Segue o teu destino" (Follow your destiny) by Ricardo Reis (a Fernando Pessoa heteronym).
> 
> OMCs' names: Faellaer = kind summer; Saelrusc = wise fox; Môrlach = dark flame.
> 
> Prompts: fanfic100 prompt 032: sunset.
> 
> [Disclaimer/Blanket Statement](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/profile)

**Gondolin, 124 First Age**

Glorfindel had been away for two weeks, training in the hills with the younger members of his House, when a boy brought him a sealed parchment. The boy had come in full gallop and was covered in dust. He dared not look in Glorfindel's eyes, and was quickly dismissed. He almost ran to tend to his exhausted horse.

The message was very succinct: Saelrusc, his father's oldest councillor and friend, begged him to return immediately, offering no explanation. This was most unusual and Glorfindel's first thoughts were for his father. He ran to the improvised paddock and mounted his horse. He would be able to reach Gondolin before the last sunlight died in the skies if he left immediately.

He left with few words to his companions. Surely the city was safe, otherwise the boy would have told him something or the letter would ask for all of them to come, so this had to be about his father. He refused to allow his mind to form clear images or words, but his heart was heavy.

The road seemed endless, but he finally arrived at the doors of his House. They were open and many people were crossing them, both ways. As he proceeded into the hall, he saw Saelrusc at the base of the main stairs, talking to a servant. Glorfindel ran to him. Saelrusc hugged him so tightly it hurt and said, "Pen-neth, it is good that you came today."

As he parted from the embrace, Glorfindel noticed Saelrusc's eyes were swollen and red. "What is happening, Saelrusc?"

"Pen-neth, I have something to tell you." In all the years Glorfindel had known Saelrusc, he had never seen him avoid a direct answer.

"It is my father, is it not? What happened to him? Is he hurt?" As the questions jumped from Glorfindel's lips, Saelrusc's expression grew dimmer.

"Pen-neth, you know your father has missed your mother very much."

"Where is he? Don't tell me it has started! He is not leaving us for Mandos!"

"He has been leaving us for many years now, you know that." Saelrusc suddenly looked old, defeated. "Pen-neth, he has joined your mother."

"NO!" Glorfindel pushed Saelrusc back and ran up the stairs into his father's rooms. The servants looked startled as he rushed in and stepped aside swiftly. His father lay in the bed. All curtains were shut and the only light came from two small candles on the bedside tables. His father looked pale, almost translucent. Someone shut the door silently, leaving him alone with his father's body.

He fell on his knees at the side of the bed. This was not his father; it was a stranger he had never met. Where was that kind smile, so sad in the last years, but always present? Those hands were so still; his father's hands were never still. They were always building, teaching, comforting, loving. And that dull hair; when had his father's hair become so dull? Why had he not noticed? He could see now grey strands at his temple, mingling with the black.

Glorfindel wanted to touch that grotesque caricature laying on the bed but repulsion stopped him. He could not bring himself to believe that was his father and so he fled the room.

Later, Saelrusc found him in the far end of the gardens, leaning on a tree. It was late in the night and Glorfindel had not dined. Saelrusc still saw the little elfling clinging to his robes in a distant, happier place, begging for one more tickling session. Glorfindel was the son of his dearest friend and Saelrusc could not help but to think of him as his own.

"Pen-neth, come inside. Please." Saelrusc petted Glorfindel's hair slowly.

After a long pause Glorfindel asked, "Is it true, Sael?"

Saelrusc knelt slowly next to Glorfindel and held him. "Aye," was his only answer. Glorfindel leaned on his shoulder and sighed. He felt hollow; his mind exhausted from racing through so many conflicting thoughts, his heart numb, his blood cold.

His father was dead? An inconceivable thought. How could that be? But he knew how: his father had been holding on to life, a mere shadow of himself for his son's and his House's sake. From the very day his mother had passed away, his father had started wilting before their eyes.

Now that he had lost another, Glorfindel felt nothing; not even guilt for his coldness.

Saelrusc broke the silence. "This place reminds me of your old home. Do you remember how your father used to spend hours in the garden playing with you under the sun?" He knew he was being cruel, but it was necessary. Glorfindel needed to cry, to scream, to suffer. Shutting the pain out would not do him any good.

His blow had been effective. Glorfindel tried to answer but no words left his mouth. As pain and acceptance finally ripped through him, he clasped Saelrusc's clothes and cried. He sobbed like a child as the full understanding of his loss hit him. Faellaer had been more than a caring father and the head of his House; he had been Glorfindel's closest friend, the most constant presence in his life; his beacon.

* * *

On the next day, the leaders of the other houses and many other friends came to salute him and extend their condolences. He knew most of them fairly well, for they had met on several occasions, formal and informal. Some were his friends. Others were close to his father and he could see the undisguised grief in their faces. He felt lonelier than ever. They all seemed strange to him. Strangers. Or was he the stranger?

At night, the poignant feeling of loss hit him again as he entered his father's rooms, now empty, looking for a familiar presence. He sat at his mother's dresser and opened the top drawer. Her brush was still there. He could see his father repeating the same gestures every night for the last decade. Drawing the brush near to his face, inhaling the scent long gone, caressing the few strands of blonde hair left there. Traces of an interrupted life. Now they were together. Maybe it was better this way, but their absence was a spear driven into his side.

* * *

A week later Glorfindel wandered through the halls, musing. Since the funerary rites, he had not returned to his usual responsibilities and had not moved to assume his father's. He was moving through life as if in a waking dream, but had the vague notion he was being spared in his grief.

He decided it was time to dive into the main course of life. Glorfindel knew what lay ahead of him - it was his duty to lead his father's House, the House of the Golden Flower. He was to be a military leader and a caretaker for those who had trusted Faellaer. Glorfindel had every intention of making his father proud and his House prosper.

The following day, there would be the customary weekly meeting, in which the details of the running of the House were settled and sometimes larger decisions were taken. Glorfindel intended to be there and to take his rightful place. He had a hard time reconciling sleep, but the next morning he was ready and sharp. His father had prepared him throughout his life to be a leader, but he intended to approach this meeting humbly. He realized many of the older councillors, who still called him pen-neth, could be offended by an energetic stance; and in any event, he did not feel especially vigorous or forceful.

As the meeting went on, the insidious suspicion that his councillors were doing their best to drive decisions away from his hands started to form. Glorfindel did not pay it much attention, though. Many of these persons had known him as a child and certainly were trying to shelter and aid him in this difficult time.

During the following week he felt a little superfluous, but he attributed it to this concerted effort designed to spare him. In the next meeting the same attitude prevailed. Glorfindel tried to make a few suggestions, always considering his relative youth and inexperience when voicing them, but they were all kindly but firmly rebuked, leaving him little choice but to approve others' suggestions.

As this pattern went on, Glorfindel felt more and more detached from his House. He was being denied the responsibilities that were rightfully his and had no idea of how to recover them. He quickly reassumed his previous military duties. No one would deny him those, but he started spending more time away. It was humiliating to feel he was in the way in his own House. He had survived Alqualondë, though, being too young, he had not fought, and the Helcaraxë, but was not thought competent enough to pronounce himself on the smallest matters.

He had found something to distract him; though it was not always easy to pass unnoticed because of his golden hair, he walked everyday through the market and had started to blend in well. In the midst of all that agitation and colour he felt alive, but still apart, isolated.

It was in one of these walks that he first saw Erestor. He stood out from the crowd like a fire in the darkness. Glorfindel could see that nobody else noticed that remarkable elf, and it amazed him, until he realized why: he was as detached from his surroundings as himself. An air of abandonment about him made him almost invisible to others, but not to Glorfindel, who felt equally invisible.

Glorfindel watched the mysterious elf for a while, as he progressed through the market. He knew many people in Gondolin; most of them, in fact. This elf could not be new in the city, but Glorfindel was sure that he had never seen him.

They would meet, he decided. He made a discreet inquiry with one of the vendors and came to learn that the elf was a member of the House of the Fountain, of Ecthelion's staff. Apparently, this elf took a stroll in the market in the early morning every day, but rarely bought anything. When he did, normally it was writing material. He always wore dark clothes and spoke to very few people.

Glorfindel had maintained a friendly, close relationship with Ecthelion until his father's death. Ecthelion was the youngest of the house leaders; they shared many interests and frequently met to spar or ride.

A courtesy visit had been due for sometime, so the next morning Glorfindel went to Ecthelion's House. This was not very common; their meetings were normally informal and outdoors.

Echtelion received him in his office, a large room with broad windows and bookshelves up to the ceiling. Glorfindel had never been there and let his eyes wander. The room seemed to be a cross between a library and a communal office.

Ecthelion stepped from behind his desk and came to him, enfolding him in a tight hug.

"How are you, my friend?" His tone showed concern and affection. Ecthelion had lost his parents long ago and sympathised deeply with his friend.

"I am as you see me. And you, my friend? Working hard, I see..."

"Well, yes. I am sorry for receiving you here, but I am waiting for some last papers to sign. As soon as they arrive we will go into the gardens for a stroll and a good talk."

As Ecthelion spoke, two elves entered the room. One of them was the elf from the market. They nodded politely towards Glorfindel and presented the papers to Ecthelion before leaving silently.

Glorfindel stood idly, waiting for Ecthelion to finish his work. He could not help but notice the differences between himself and his friend. Ecthelion was a House leader, not a mere seneschal or a prow figure. His staff depended on him; they came to him for decision and counsel. His large desk was filled with papers in that kind of disorganized order his father had always had, not empty as his own.

When Ecthelion finished, he led Glorfindel into the gardens. After a few moments of mindless chat, Glorfindel could not help being blunt. "Who was the younger elf in your study just now?"

"Oh, how rude of me. I should have introduced you. His name is Erestor. He is one of my best councillors."

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. "Really? He looked young, not much older than me. Of course it is always hard to tell with our people, but..."

"No, you are right. He is, I believe, only slightly older than you, but I do trust his judgement. He is very devoted to his work and has deep political intuition. And why are you curious about him, may I ask?"

"Oh, I just had the feeling I had never seen him before." Glorfindel hated the small lie, but somehow it was awkward telling his friend the real reason for his visit.

Ecthelion smirked. "There is good reason for your oblivion. Erestor has a remarkable ability to make himself forgotten. Very useful at times, I should say. Also, he lives as a recluse. Come, let us go inside. I want you to meet him."

As they walked back, Glorfindel once more wondered why this sudden curiosity about this Erestor had arisen.

Ecthelion lead him back to the same room. Erestor was there, working alone. Ecthelion promptly introduced him to Glorfindel. Erestor greeted him formally and prepared to leave, but Ecthelion asked him to stay longer.

"Erestor is a pearl; I cannot imagine what it would be like running this House without him," Ecthelion complimented in a light tone. "However he is quite shy and does not have many friends. Or maybe that is his tongue's doing." Ecthelion smiled and it was clear he teased, but Glorfindel noticed an obvious frown forming on Erestor's face. Ecthelion noticed it too. "I did not mean it that way, Erestor. You know how much I appreciate you, and if your tongue is feared it is because it is always truthful. Come, sit by me. Glorfindel is a dear friend and I want you both to become friends also".

Glorfindel was surprised. For Ecthelion to praise him so highly twice, Erestor must truly be an important member of his House. Ecthelion never spoke unless it was from his heart. On the other hand, Erestor was intriguing; during the rest of the time of Glorfindel's visit he never uttered a word, but never seemed distracted. What hid beneath all that reserve?

Ecthelion had guests for lunch and invited Glorfindel to join them, but he declined. It was still hard to bear the company of a large crowd and Ecthelion was probably conducting some negotiations. The presence of the head of another House, even a useless one such as himself, would not be comfortable for host or guests.

As he was leaving, Ecthelion called him to one side. "I know you are going through a hard time." Glorfindel nodded. "Erestor is grieving too, a grief of another kind. Surely you have noticed he is very sombre."

"Yes, yet he intrigues me and you do praise him so. May I enquire as to the reason for this sadness?" Glorfindel knew he had just breached one of the first rules of politeness and cringed inwardly, but there, the question was out.

Ecthelion smiled at his frown and put a hand on his shoulder. "I thought I had seen some interest there. He does need friends. He is very hurt, but it is not my place to tell you why."

"I am sorry, Ecthelion, I did not mean to put you in such a delicate position. I do not know what came over me." Glorfindel offered his apologies sincerely, but was still curious.

"Think nothing of it, my friend." Ecthelion's smile was frank as always. Glorfindel started to remember why they had been so close before his life went dark.

A simple "Thank you," was enough for both of them.

* * *

A few days later, Glorfindel met Erestor in the market. Once more, the advisor greeted him formally and was preparing to leave when Glorfindel invited him for dinner at his House. Erestor looked astonished. "Thank you, Lord Glorfindel. Your invitation is very kind but you need not concern yourself with me, despite Lord Ecthelion's words."

"I did not invite you out of pity or out of some sense of obligation. Any friend of Ecthelion's is mine too, especially one he thinks of so highly." Glorfindel paused and studied Erestor's reaction.

Erestor was left with little choice. "Very well. I thank you, and accept."

* * *

Glorfindel felt slightly anxious about the idea of dining with Erestor. He was the first person he had invited to his House in non-official circumstances after his father's death and he was not sure what the reactions would be. Besides, Erestor was so quiet. It could have been a very awkward evening, but Erestor surprised him. He was perfectly amiable all evening and engaged in a long conversation with Saelrusc and other elder members of his House, mainly on political issues and House management. Erestor listened more than he spoke and asked many questions, some of which Glorfindel suspected he already knew the answers. He could have said Erestor was the perfect guest. Actually, Glorfindel was the silent one. It was hard not to observe, as Erestor gained the elders' consideration so elegantly, whilst revealing so little of himself.

Later, when Glorfindel accompanied Erestor to the hall, he could not help but comment upon it. "I thought you never spoke," he tried to joke.

"Any other behaviour would have been an insult to you and to your House. Besides, it can be a pleasure talking with the older and wiser. I bid you good night." And he left with that laconic remark, leaving Glorfindel to wonder about his sudden change of tone.

* * *

Their meetings, formal and informal became more frequent. Gradually Erestor came to trust Glorfindel and appreciate his presence. Glorfindel was one who could stand his silences comfortably. They were very different in their interests, but not in their principles, and that became the foundation for a strong friendship.

They often went riding in the late afternoon. Many times they stopped and sat on the grass talking about books, politics, art and daily little nothings. Sometimes Erestor slept while Glorfindel drew. He was an excellent landscapist but, to his regret, not very good at portraits. He longed to be able to capture his friend's expression in his sleep. Erestor then looked peaceful, almost happy, free of the usual gloom. "What could have made Erestor this sad?" he mused. Erestor had become an excellent friend and he could see perfectly why he held Ecthelion's admiration and esteem.

Nevertheless, Erestor was very hard to understand. Most of their mutual friends and acquaintances thought he was straightforward; a stern being with a dry, perhaps quirky sense of humour, rarely shown.

Glorfindel saw much more in Erestor, and what he saw made him want to know more. He noticed his friend had a sharp tongue - everybody noticed that, but not that he used it sparingly. But he also noticed that Erestor never laughed at something cruel, and that he never humiliated others through laughter. It reminded him of his father's words, "Nothing shows a man's character more than what he laughs at."

As they became closer, his bafflement increased. Erestor had a side to him that most people disregarded easily, though it was the best part of him. He was kind and spent many hours aiding others, never expecting to be thanked, and he rarely was indeed. It almost seemed he took pride in his invisibility.

Occasionally he wondered how Erestor might feel about being judged so quickly and never reappraised. Hurt, trapped, perhaps, and always alone. Yet it seemed to be a voluntary condition and Erestor did not seem to mind it most of the time. He never once tried to justify himself or indulge in self-pity. Whenever one of those supposedly judicious remarks came, he shrugged. Occasionally, when the person had no real right to complain, he uttered one cold, "Have I ever wronged you?" and left it at that.

Glorfindel came to resent those comments; he was hurt by the way Erestor's motives and actions were misread. Erestor's laconic style and his isolation were the fruit of shyness and a certain sadness, never hauteur. Could that be so hard to see? He wanted to offer his solidarity, but most times his friend pushed him away. Once or twice he did confess he was hurt, though through cryptic humorous remarks. That was his way.

* * *

As they grew closer, Erestor dared to probe Glorfindel as to the reasons for his obvious detachment from his House and his responsibilities, apart from the military. He was not sure on how to approach such a difficult subject without seeming reproachful or presuming too much intimacy, but he worried about Glorfindel. It was obvious that he was not pleased with the state of matters.

One day, while Glorfindel sketched, Erestor finally came around to it. "Glorfindel, I was wondering about the functioning of your House. You must have an exceptional system of organisation."

"What do you mean?" The tension in Glorfindel's voice was obvious and Erestor vacillated, but then decided that he should finish what he had started.

"Well, you do have much more free time than Ecthelion, for instance."

Glorfindel stopped sketching abruptly and dropped his work. He rose from the dry grass and started pacing back and forth.

"My friend, something troubles you."

"Yes, yes, yes!" Glorfindel was of a sunny nature and Erestor knew how difficult it was to enrage him. He could not tell if the harsh tone was meant for him or for whatever it was that kept him from fulfilling his duties.

After a few minutes, Glorfindel slumped down and sighed, bowing his head. "I... this is very difficult for me. Humiliating." He sighed again.

Erestor squeezed his shoulder. "Never mind me. You do not have to tell me anything."

"No, I need to talk to someone." Glorfindel was the living image of misery. Erestor rubbed his back and waited.

Finally Glorfindel blurted, "Well, it bothers me that I am not doing my job, as you have so delicately pointed out. I am their leader in name only. I am treated as an impertinent child in council and I have little authority in most matters. This is not what my father would have wanted for his son. If he can watch Vairë's tapestries, he must surely be disappointed. But I do not know how to reclaim my responsibilities without offending the ones who strove so hard to spare me in my darkest hour."

Erestor felt sorry for his friend, but he could offer him no easy way out. He smiled kindly and patted Glorfindel's knee "You must go slowly, my friend."

* * *

Some time later, Glorfindel was talking with Saelrusc after dinner. He was trying to follow Erestor's advice and let his old friend know that he had grown up and was healing and that it was time to take on his responsibilities. As he mentioned Ecthelion as an example, Saelrusc said, "I noticed you have become quite close to his councillor, Erestor."

"Yes, you could say so, though Erestor does not reveal much of himself." Glorfindel's curiosity was piqued. "Do you know him? I mean, besides that dinner."

"Yes, I do. As you know, I spent some time in Fëanor's court as an emissary and my wife has some relatives there, so I had heard of Erestor and briefly met him before he came here."

"Oh, is that so?" Saelrusc could be quite the talkative type if properly encouraged and Glorfindel burned to learn more about his friend and his mysterious past.

"Yes, yes. He was a very gifted youngster at Fëanor's court, though already a bit isolated. I hold him in high regard, despite his personal choices."

"Personal choices? What do you mean?"

"Well, he lived for sometime with Mörlach, the son of my wife's cousin."

"What do you mean? Why should he live with this Mörlach, or why should it be strange? Were they not kin?"

Saelrusc looked embarrassed. "Well, their relationship was of a special nature."

Glorfindel looked quizzical.

"Well, umm, er... they shared a bed..."

Glorfindel's silence encouraged Saelrusc's taste for detail and thus he came to learn some of the circumstances of this affair and its ending with Môrlach's death. The reports were conflicting and most of the information came from Môrlach's accounts, for Erestor had remained silent on these matters, keeping his dignity.

"So, you mean he is bonded; he is bonded by marriage to this Môrlach?" Glorfindel concluded.

"I do not know if the same laws apply. I know a few such lovers and they do behave as if married, but the Valar gave us no clear ruling of such unions. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason, mere curiosity. After all, he is a friend and a troubled one."

"You've been asking an awful lot of questions about this nér, if I might say so."

"Well, you have answered an awful lot of them and with great knowledge, apparently." Glorfindel's tone was polite, as if to smooth the harsh content of his answer, but no mistake was made in its interpretation. He immediately regretted aiming such a disrespectful comment at such a venerable, dear old friend.

Saelrusc nodded silently and moved to leave, but Glorfindel stopped him. "I apologise. I do not know what came over me. Please forgive me, Sael. Erestor is a dear friend."

Glorfindel looked contrite and Saelrusc smiled indulgently. "Pen-neth, you are too impulsive."

* * *

Glorfindel had never questioned deeply the nature of his interest in Erestor. It seemed fairly obvious to him. Erestor was an interesting person, a brilliant advisor; someone misunderstood by many and kind, in a very understated way. He was a good friend and a very close one, one of the few who did not treat him as a child.

Now, in light of this new information, he mused on this hidden world in which two males shared love, the same carnal love that was supposed to belong only to married couples. He had known all along that such people existed, and among the maidens too, but they were so discreet they barely drew attention to themselves.

Glorfindel knew, of course, how the physical union of two males could take place. He had never given it any thought, but now he tried to imagine how it had been for Erestor. Was he taken or did he take? Did he like it? He must have. Somehow, when Glorfindel tried to envisage Erestor with someone, his own body and face appeared instead. He found himself aroused and ashamed by these thoughts, for they were a betrayal of sorts to their friendship and if Erestor was bonded, it was a condemnable act to lust after him so. And besides, he was, at least in name, the head of one of the twelve Houses of Gondolin. He had the duty of procreate, had he not? And why would he desire a nér and a friend?

Still, Saelrusc's words echoed in his mind; if Erestor had been joined in body to another, who could say, really, what his status was? Even if he was truly married, if such a word applied, there was still some hope. Had not Finwë, his grandfather, been released from his bond to Miriel and taken Indis as his wife? But that had been so that Finwë could have more children, and the consequences had been tragic.

"Why am I thinking of that?" he questioned himself. Erestor probably was sad because his lover had died. He would not want another to replace him even if he could. But then, why all that distancing from everyone else? No, Glorfindel reminded Ecthelion's words, Erestor had been hurt and not by death, but by another kind of loss. Besides, though Saelrusc knew little, his words left him with an unpleasant impression of this Môrlach.

He could not ask Erestor any of this directly. It would hurt his feelings and he would certainly withdraw the trust he had placed in Glorfindel. The last thing Glorfindel wished for was to lose Erestor's friendship.

Glorfindel felt strange in Erestor's presence. Distracting thoughts crossed his mind constantly. He made an effort to behave normally, but ended up being taciturn. Luckily Erestor appreciated silence.

His sexual fantasies concerning his friend had become pervasive in his life. He had to concentrate hard to avoid being aroused during his normal activities and reserve these thoughts for the late night and the privacy of his rooms.

Glorfindel started exploring his body during these fantasies. Most of the times he pictured himself taking Erestor, moving deep inside him. Was it similar to the warmth of his hand? Would he see pleasure in Erestor's eyes? He wanted to kiss him so badly it hurt. Where had this desire come from?

Sometimes he tried to imagine being taken. His exploring then became obscene to himself, but decency did not stop him. He wanted to understand what it was like, how pleasure could be given and accepted in that way. If at first it felt repulsive, it quickly became fascinating.

It was not as uncomfortable as he had expected, but it felt odd. It was pleasurable but not as much as some of his other activities; it was more the thrill of doing something so unorthodox. He realized his fingers were far slimmer than an average erection. "How could pain and discomfort be avoided then?" he wondered.

Strangely, when he was with Erestor his thoughts were far less explicit, and he was thankful for that. At those times, he wished for nothing more than to be able to hold Erestor and kiss him. To lay at his side in the grass, but closer. Hear him breathing, feel his heart beating. To somehow erase that sadness with his lips, tenderly, chastely.

Glorfindel was discovering a part of him he ignored, a darker side perhaps. He no longer felt like a boy and wanted to lift the veil that covered the world before his eyes. He wanted to do it with his dearest friend, no matter the price. He was in love.


	2. Chapter 2

Erestor found this friendship with Glorfindel a blessing in disguise. When they had first met at Ecthelion's House, Glorfindel had paid him too much attention for his comfort. The first thought to cross his mind at that when Glorfindel had first invited him to dine had been that he was interested in him as Môrlach had been. A repulsive thought. He wanted nothing but distance, but Glorfindel had an innocent air about him that was touching.

Erestor decided to give Glorfindel a chance. In Gondolin, he was slowly returning to himself; he had made a few friends and did not feel as isolated as before. It was not easy, but he was doing his best to trust others again.

As they became closer, Erestor came to crave Glorfindel´s presence. All the polluted thoughts abandoned him and only the familiar comfort of a solid friendship remained.

Until that day. They had been riding in the surrounding hills, as it had become their habit, and were returning home with the sun setting on their backs. Glorfindel turned to him and said, "Your hair looks beautiful in this light."

This simple remark was enough to stifle him. They rode all the way back in silence. Glorfindel looked at him intermittently, but his only words came only as they parted. "Good night, my friend. I will see you tomorrow."

Erestor nodded and left. He walked the rest of the way wondering if he had been wrong about Glorfindel, now or before. The comment could be devoid of malice; his hair had been complimented before, and though he hated compliments of any kind, by anyone, and especially about his body, he had to admit that his hair was nice. On the other hand, Glorfindel could have been preparing his terrain until now. Erestor quickly dismissed that hypothesis. Glorfindel was incapable of skewed thinking, not to say acting. It probably had been only an innocuous comment. He would not think about it anymore.

The next day, they went out riding as usual and there was another incident. This time Glorfindel touched him. He was complaining about how late the suppliers were again and Glorfindel patted his shoulder. This was nothing new between them. Erestor disliked physical intimacy with most everyone - excepting a few close friends. This time however, it seemed to him that the hand stayed on his shoulder longer than necessary. He could not tell if it really had been so or if he was overreacting because of the previous day. Soon, his doubts were to be discarded. Day after day after day, Glorfindel pursued him, each time more overtly.

Erestor had mixed feelings. He liked Glorfindel. More than that, this friendship was the warmest part of his life. He did not want to lose a friend, but he did not want to take a lover; he could not let this go on and pretend nothing was occurring. Still, that was precisely what he did. Each day, his certainty about the nature of Glorfindel´s attentions grew, but he kept postponing the decision of letting him down.

As this silent courtship went on, something began to change inside Erestor. Unexpectedly, he started feeling a clenching in his chest, almost like anguish, whenever Glorfindel said a soft word or touched his body. This could not be happening; it was certainly nothing like what he remembered as being in love, but it was feeling something and that was dangerous.

Erestor found himself trying to imagine what it would be like with Glorfindel. Was it possible for him to love again, or to be loved? He wanted so much to believe this was true, but it seemed more logical to think that Glorfindel was toying with him. Why would he not? What was there to gain in loving someone as tainted and unworthy as he was? He may have carefully hidden the details, but Erestor felt his past had left such a dark smear in his soul that it should be obvious to everyone else what he was. And, most of all, why this sudden interest? Had Glorfindel come to know something about his past?

If Glorfindel loved him sincerely, that would only make matters worse, for Erestor did not return these feelings. He could never. These thoughts crossing his mind were merely the result of loneliness, or maybe the hope to prove to himself that he was not as unworthy of love or desire as Môrlach as repeatedly told and shown him.

Môrlach. All this confusion had awoken the memories he had striven so hard to bury. Images of his wretched past haunted him. Every moment of his days was filled with thoughts of "could have, should have".

Erestor felt repulsion for himself and for his dealings with Môrlach. When images of their encounters crossed his mind, unwanted, he felt disgusted, used, stupid. How could he have let himself be played like that and enjoyed it? Were there no limits to naïveté? How could he have not seen what was happening? He asked himself these questions repeatedly, but the answer was always the same: he had chosen to close his eyes.

Erestor had been an easy prey for Môrlach, being a shy young thing, away from his family, with low self-esteem, hiding behind his work in Fëanor's court. A few compliments, a bit of attention, and he had given himself completely to Môrlach, only to be spurned. He had become nothing more than an old pair of shoes, discarded and forgotten as the leather wore thin. He cringed as he remembered, but could not drive these thoughts away anymore.

Erestor always felt a deep desire for everyone suddenly to become totally oblivious to him. He was tired of being the prodigy child, of having all those expectations of brilliancy hanging over him. Tired and lonely.

They commented on his looks too. Every compliment he had ever received on his body seemed false. Môrlach has slithered through his reserve and isolation. He asked for help in trivial matters and always seemed so grateful and happy to be near him. Môrlach made him feel like a real person for once, not some illustration. It felt good. From there to taking Erestor as a lover it had been a small step.

It had been bliss. Still, Erestor worried frequently about his family. Surely they would not be very happy to hear about a less conventional union but somehow, in Môrlach's arms, that all faded away. He finally felt like he belonged.

And then things started to turn sour. At first it was little nothings: Môrlach arriving home late, forgetting to warn him; ignoring him all day long, but then charmingly apologising at night; ordering him to do things as if he was his servant, but then rewarding him with a searing kiss.

These negligent acts were followed by tender caresses, honeyed words. Somewhere deep inside, Erestor knew that Môrlach's slips and subsequent excuses were starting to occur too often, but he hushed these thoughts.

Then Môrlach started humiliating him in public. His words to whomever listened echoed in Erestor's ears. At first almost innocuous: "We are a bit clumsy today, are we not?" in front of everybody in the sparring room; or "Look what the cat dragged in", when he had crossed the entire camp under pouring rain to bring Môrlach the maps he had forgotten. Little things said in a jocose tone, but cutting deeply.

Erestor did not know how to address these apparently innocent remarks without sounding foolish, so he did nothing. Môrlach gave him no quarter. Now he voiced harder comments to others, only loud enough to make sure Erestor heard them. "Some may call him brilliant and beautiful but that is merely an image he projects"; "No, really, he is not that good. Believe me".

Erestor felt them deeply and it took much more effort now on Môrlach's part to soothe him, but he was a master in these games and Erestor succumbed repeatedly, though he understood this game. Slowly, and against his hopes, he realized that the charming elf who had swept him off his feet was a manipulative person, always seeking personal advantage. He had no character or principles. Erestor had developed the bitter suspicion that Môrlach's interest in him was mainly due to his skills and his proximity to Maedhros.

Erestor could see Môrlach was mining his frail self-confidence and then rebuilding it to make him dependant. He knew he was being manipulated, but not how to set himself free. Near the end, Môrlach's comments reached their lowest, most humiliating and hurting levels. Those words, proffered in bed... "I don't know why I waste my time on you"; "Why, you are not an innocent virgin anymore. Why can you not learn how to please me?" left undeletable scars.

After that, Erestor refused to maintain any intimate contacts, and was searching furiously for any way out, but Môrlach still had a hold on him. There were veiled threats, that constant sneering, the turning of their friends against him and even performing small acts of sabotage to what Erestor held most sacred: his work. Erestor stayed away from him for as long as he could. He had started sleeping in the tent where he worked during the day and avoided meals. Môrlach was right; if he was as brilliant as everyone thought him to be, why could he not find a way out? He did not know how to use Môrlach's methods, nor did he want to descend so low as to learn them.

* * *

Erestor hated being weak. None of this mud was Môrlach's responsibility, he reasoned with himself. No, in fairness, he had more to blame himself for than any other person. He had been used because he had allowed it to happen. He realized these thoughts were too the result of Môrlach's game, but his heart spoke louder and Erestor had come to despise himself almost as much as Môrlach had wanted him to.

And then there were the other things. Oh, he had so much to repent for. Of all the things he regretted not having done, leaving Môrlach was the least.

He regretted bitterly that the Valar had not given him the strength and the will to be a kinslayer. He would have slain all he could. No, not Teleri. He would have taken down Fëanor. Living in his court, he certainly had the chance to do so. Arda would have been rid of one demented, egotistical bastard, had he had what it took. But then, Fëanor did not seem so bad. He seemed to be the best of them, in fact, and Erestor had loved him, almost as a father. He was dazzling to the eyes of an elfling; a repository of wisdom and lore. Wisdom; Erestor knew now nothing was further from the truth. Once more he had been fooled.

Of course he realized that killing Fëanor would not have solved a thing. There would then have been Maedhros. Then Maglor. The list seemed endless; there would always be someone bound by an obscene oath or demented by greed. Could he really have taken the lives of so many in his hands, had he that power? He hated Fëanor, deeply, but the thought of killing one of his sons, even now, was a different matter. He respected Maedhros. More than that, they could call themselves friends. Maedhros had taken a youngster full of promise under his wing and had shown him the ways of court, always giving deep, pure friendship. Could he have broken that bond for the sake of cleansing Arda? Did he, in any case, have the moral legitimacy to do such a thing? The answer was always "no". The warped logic in killing did not deceive Erestor, but he could not forgive himself for not having been able to, somehow, avoid Alqualondë.

Despite all evidence, he had chosen to believe right up until the start of the battle that it was not going to happen. It was unthinkable. When the fighting broke, he stayed behind for as long as he could. He still had the faint hope that he would not have to participate in that folly, that it would stop quickly once everybody came to their senses.

Then he had found himself cornered and had no choice but to raise his sword to protect his life. It had been like a dream, so different from the sparring practice where his mind raced ahead of his body, trying to deliver the best coup but always ineffectively. In battle, he watched himself deliver blow after blow with graceful precision. No unnecessary movements, merely arms drawing arches, feet dancing, his sword humming. Afterwards, he had left it in the battlefield, vowing never to touch a sword again.

There was no place in Aman for irresolute killers. Erestor had no choice but to sail with the ones he had come to loathe. As they crossed the Belegaer in the Swan ships, he noticed Môrlach was not among them. He felt relief. In retrospect, he was sure the only reason that kept him from Mandos' doors, feeling as defiled as he was by the Teleri blood on his hands, had been the intense relief of finally being free from Môrlach.

Erestor had left the lot of them as soon as the opportunity had come, finding refuge in Nargothrond. The city was taking shape; there was so much to do and a couple of extra hands were welcomed. No questions were asked. In work, of any kind, he was able temporarily to leave behind all that had maimed his soul. He submerged himself in his tasks, carrying them out to perfection. Then he was free. Manual work exhausted his body and some accounting work at night numbed his spirit. That was enough to get through another day and stay away from Mandos and Môrlach.

When Finrod asked for volunteers to work at the Havens of Belegost and Eglarest, Erestor seized the opportunity eagerly. No distance seemed far enough from Fëanor's host. He wanted to forget, yes, but there was more. He had left quietly; he had no other choice. Traitors and deserters were not well appreciated and if Maedhros was generous enough to turn his eyes, Celegorm and Caranthir were not. Erestor knew he was an inferior swordsman and his chances were very slim against one or both of them, even if he had not proffered that vow. He did not fear fighting them for death itself; what he sought to avoid, at any cost, was meeting those two or any other from Fëanor's host for they represented the worse part of him, his most shameful day.

Erestor's healing began in Eglarest. There was peace and purity in the sea. Every day, after work, he sat by the shore, alone, and listened to the roll of the waves and the gulls' cries. The ever-present tang of salt in the air penetrated to his soul and helped dispersing the foul memories. Building something was elating, but this was different from Nargothrond. Each stone he placed with his bare hands was set on the past, covering all the filth, though a long road still lay ahead of him.

As always, Erestor could not keep away from books for long. Soon his dedication and talent drew Círdan's attention. One late night, in the temporary office, Círdan asked him to take care of some correspondence he needed sent to Fingolfin. Writing those accursed Fëanorian characters left a bitter taste in Erestor's mouth, but he was never one to throw down an opportunity. Eglarest had been a haven for him, in more than one way, but he still felt restless and lost. He practically implored Círdan to be allowed to carry the letter to Hithlum. Some instinct drove him to this journey.

Erestor felt ungrateful, but he had an obligation to inform Círdan that he was leaving and might not return. Círdan was generous, though. He felt that whatever the Havens might have given Erestor, he had returned.

Hithlum was less and more than he expected. The city was alive, but there was no joy there, in the people. The Teleri he had met in Eglarest, despite all that had come to them, were more joyful and light.

Fingolfin welcomed him well and soon forgot his existence, for there was no urgent need to reply Círdan's message. Erestor wandered for a few days through the city, lost, absorbing the life around him.

Turgon had come from Vinyamar to visit his father. Rumours of him building a secret city spread like fire on dry hay through court. Turgon had a lot to learn when it came to walls and their ears. To Erestor, it seemed yet another pearl the Valar had placed in his way.

If there was ever one to hate the Fëanorians, that would be Turgon. The world was gravid with opportunity and this was indeed a luscious one. If there was ever a refuge where he could become invisible it would be this, Gondolin; its name rang full of promises of peace, distance and forgetfulness.

Turgon had been a challenge. How could one approach him and tell him that his deepest, most secret desire was on the mouths of the town? Turgon had been livid, but Erestor used all his diplomacy to persuade him.

And thus he had arrived in what was to be Gondolin. They had worked so hard to build it. He missed the sea, but there were always new tasks to take care of, never a moment of wretched quietude. Turgon had assigned him to Ecthelion's host, which would later become the House of the Fountain. Few there noticed him, and fewer approached him. He lived for his duty and that was enough. Ecthelion trusted him, and slowly his position in the House of the Fountain had been elevated, but he did not care for rank. His pleasure was to be a part of something greater, something he could never defile.

 

Erestor hated Glorfindel for bringing up all those memories he had striven so hard to bury. Still, Glorfindel was his friend. He almost felt sorry for him, for not being able to love him back. After a while, Erestor finally came to a decision; he shut Glorfindel out completely. Now he only talked to Glorfindel when it was strictly necessary and avoided at all costs the briefest meeting, even lying in order to do so, which he abhorred.

When they did meet, Erestor hated Glorfindel for looking so hurt, and for still trying. Why could he not just let go and forget him?

Summer passed and then autumn. The Winter Solstice came. The founders of the city had started a tradition of visiting each House in the twelve days preceding solstice. It was a time for joy and celebration. It was a time of much work for the staff of the Houses. Erestor loved this season – it was hectic, he could completely immerse in work and there was still more to do.

On the day dedicated to the House of the Fountain he usually stood in a corner watching as events unfolded, making sure nothing was amiss. It was a rare pleasure for him, but this year it was spoiled by Glorfindel's heavy gaze on him. The previous year, shortly after their acquaintance, Glorfindel had stayed late and they had talked for long. Ecthelion had joined them after the other guests had gone. It had been so... homely.

Now this. He hated Glorfindel more and more. He hated feeling guilty for not wanting him; he hated feeling insecure about Glorfindel's true intentions; he hated loving him, but surely this was not love. No. This strange clenching had to have another name, but he did not care to learn it.

Oh, would Glorfindel never leave tonight? Was it not enough to have destroyed that sweet numb feeling only Gondolin had?

Turgon was leaving. Soon all the other Houses would follow his example. Erestor watched as the main hall emptied. His presence was no longer needed now. He slipped swiftly into the library. This was the last place anyone would seek on such a day. More likely the cellars, he mused with a bitter twitch on his lips.

Erestor sat at the bench by one of the last windows, partially hidden by bookshelves, and reclined sighing, eyes closed. Life was imperfect, that much he knew.

The door cried out, as always. Valar, he would have to oil it himself. And who could it be now? Surely some servant with some stupid question. Could he never be alone?

Eyes still closed, he asked as the steps grew near, "What?"

"The question is why, I believe."

The voice was unmistakable. Erestor decided that he would not open his eyes. "Glorfindel, what are you doing here?"

"I am seeking my old friend." Erestor had never heard bitterness in Glorfindel's voice. Still, he decided he would not make any effort to ease his pains. This was entirely his fault, anyway.

"Will you not say something?" he enquired.

Erestor remained silent as Glorfindel stepped nearer. "Why are you treating me so?" He sat slowly by Erestor's side. "Have I wronged you?"

"Glorfindel why do you not just say what you want?"

"My friend, we have been good friends for a long time. You know how much I like you."

"So you tell me."

Glorfindel ignored the coldness in Erestor's voice and continued, "But I also came to appreciate you in another way... Is that it? Is that what has driven you from me?"

"Yes."

"Why?" Glorfindel sounded hurt, but Erestor was determined not to let that clenching in his heart sway his decision. Glorfindel tried once more. "I know you've been hurt be-"

"You know nothing!" Erestor was now furious and wide awake, staring at Glorfindel, sparks jumping from his eyes. So it was true; his past had followed him here.

Glorfindel persisted. "I know you had this lover before. I can see he was the one responsible for your –"

"Stop!" Erestor interrupted him once more, but Glorfindel felt he was breaching those walls and this was no time to respect Erestor's reserve.

"Did you love him so? He is the reason for your coyness, is he not? He is the one who hurt you." He paused. "Why can you not let him go?"

"I do not wish to discuss this with you." Erestor turned his face away as once more the memories submerged him.

"Erestor, you know you can trust me. You know how I feel about you." Glorfindel tentatively placed his hand on Erestor's forearm.

"As you know, I was involved with someone else before," was the cold reply, full of meaning.

"I would defy the Valar for you."

"Are we not melodramatic?" Erestor tone was hard, almost scornful. "What do you really want of me, Glorfindel? Say it and spare me the theatrical lines."

"I want you, you know that. We are friends, yes, but I want more."

Erestor made the decision in that moment. If Glorfindel wanted him, he would have him, but on his terms.

He grasped Glorfindel's wrist and pulled him closer. Despite Glorfindel's insistent approaches, Erestor still felt insecure about his ability to please another after all that had passed.

Glorfindel looked surprised at the sudden change, but did not object. He could not believe Erestor had yielded and had actually taken the initiative. His heart almost burst with happiness. As they undressed, Glorfindel was so eager that he almost tore Erestor's robes off. Erestor pushed him back and looked aghast. Glorfindel immediately regretted his hastiness, but then Erestor clocked his tongue and said, "My, my, we are hasty, are we not? I shall take care of that." He swiftly took Glorfindel's shirt and held his wrists behind his back, as he pushed him to lay down on the bench. Erestor's clasp was strong and the treatment bit rougher than what Glorfindel had expected, but it was also terribly exciting.

A fleeting thought, of how wrong it would be to use Glorfindel such as he had been used, crossed Erestor's mind, but was quickly dismissed. He was quite sure that Glorfindel would not be hurt. "Why would he?" he mused. He did not love him, not really; he merely wanted to have a little piece of him as Môrlach had; his eagerness undressing him was more than enough proof. Glorfindel would have what he wanted, even if the way he had it would surprise him. A wicked smile crossed his face as he tilted his head to kiss Glorfindel.

Erestor kept him in place and started nibbling his way down from Glorfindel's left ear to the base of his neck. As Glorfindel moaned and turned his head to the left, Erestor crushed his lips in a brutal kiss.

He proceeded downwards to Glorfindel's chest, where he tortured his nipples mercilessly. Glorfindel had released his hands and buried them in Erestor's hair. The touch brought forward a vivid image of Môrlach pushing his head down to his loins, taking, as always; never giving. A shudder passed through his body and he repelled those hands. "Quiet. Stay still." His voice was low but firm.

Glorfindel gasped but obeyed. Erestor looked at him – a mass of golden hair spread on the bench, full lips, eyes shining, chest heaving, leggings tight with need – the image of desire. He could not bear the sight; he was losing his dearest friend and he did not care to see it happening.

"Turn around," he said dryly. Glorfindel looked about to protest, but once more obeyed, slipping from the edge of the bench to a kneeling position on the floor. Erestor slid his hands under Glorfindel's hips and untied the laces of his leggings, while pressing his hardness against the other's buttocks. Glorfindel rubbed back and moaned.

Erestor's fingers were less than nimble, but he managed to unclothe enough of them both. A voice in the back of his mind told him he should prepare them both thoroughly, but he shrugged to himself and settled for some oil from the lamp on the windowsill and his own dew. He probed Glorfindel's body briefly with his fingers; he was relaxed enough and wanting. Erestor pushed inside in one swift thrust. Glorfindel shouted an incomprehensible word, but then pushed back.

A bitter, ironic thought crossed Erestor's mind fleetingly: "Good, he is enjoying himself". He started moving inside his former friend working up to a crescendo. He hated Glorfindel for letting him do that, for actually enjoying it, almost as much as he hated himself for having been once in that place, under Môrlach. At one point, a flash of lucidity hit him. This was not Glorfindel, but a mere substitute for Môrlach. He was taking what had never been given to him. He wanted this to be over quickly and so he further increased the pace and the roughness of the motions. Glorfindel actually moaned a shuddered "yes".

When Erestor climaxed, he dropped forward on Glorfindel's back, panting, and for a blissful moment his mind was blank. Glorfindel was still stroking himself and panted heavily. As Erestor moved to part, he pleaded, "Stay inside me, please." Erestor sighed, covering Glorfindel´s hand with his own, increasing the pace so that release would come soon for them both. It did not take long for it to happen.

Afterwards, Erestor slipped out of Glorfindel's body. He pulled his leggings up and turned, sitting on the floor, leaning his back against the bench. Glorfindel did the same, putting an arm around Erestor's shoulders. Then, much to Erestor's disgust, he whispered in the sweetest voice, "I love you." Suddenly Glorfindel's fingers caressing his hair and shoulder burned his skin and Erestor wished he would leave. He did not want to be "loved"; he had had enough of that.

He tried to keep his voice as neutral as possible but it sounded cold even to his ears. "Glorfindel, I have work in the morning. Perhaps you should leave."

Glorfindel looked surprised, and then disappointed, but kissed him one more time and rose. No words were exchanged as he dressed and Erestor kept his eyes closed. It was easier this way; he wouldn't have to respond to the other's glances and feign weariness.

Glorfindel brushed his lips on his forehead and left silently.


	3. The Sweetness Follows

The next morning, Glorfindel felt sore all over when he woke. He stayed in bed, stretching, rolling in the sheets, feeling every muscle move in sensual ache. "Strange how someone so active would be sore like this over a bit of kneeling," he mused, while a grin spread across his face.

Images of last night fluttered in his mind as he pushed the sheet down and found his nipples dark with bruises. The sight was so erotic, he took himself in hand and closed his eyes, reliving every moment in detail. Erestor's inebriating scent hovered around him. He did not want to bathe and remove the last traces of his lover and their love making from his skin. His hand moved slowly, while the other traced his body, following the same path Erestor's lips had. As his fingers found his lips, he nibbled on them, wishing they were Erestor's lips.

His free hand went down again. He spread his legs and began to once more explore the recondite opening to his body. How could he have missed that spot inside him? All air had left his lungs when Erestor had entered him. He had felt burning and there had been a small tear, but then something inside had exploded. "What was that?" he mused in awe.

This position was awkward, almost uncomfortable. He would leave this exploring to his lover, later, he thought with a grin. His lover. The mere thought of Erestor as his lover made his skin burn. Moans left his lips against his will as recurring images of lust immersed him. After he came with a hushed moan, he lay in bed for a while longer, but finally resigned and went to bathe, already dreaming of their next encounter. It would be different, he would not be so eager; he would touch Erestor's body slowly, returning all the pleasure he had given him; he would tell him he loved him once more.

Later that day, he searched for Erestor. Everywhere he looked, his lover had already left or was yet to arrive. This went on for several days. Erestor was not present at his House's day or on any of the other Houses'. Disappointment was building up inside, and that cold parting assumed new meanings, but Glorfindel refused to believe these thoughts could have any truth in them. Erestor had to love him. Why else would he have shared his body with him?

The season had passed and nothing had changed. Eventually Glorfindel felt compelled to confront Erestor, who once more proved an elusive prey. Glorfindel finally managed to corner him in Ecthelion's library. He was not pleased of using his friend's House as the arena for his personal strife for the second time, but Erestor had left him little choice.

As soon as he saw him, Erestor moved to leave, claiming he was about to retire anyway. Glorfindel realized he would not have the chance to employ diplomacy, and his patience was running thin. He was tired of feeling rejected, as a friend and as a lover, so he plunged in. "Erestor, why are you avoiding me so keenly?"

The crisp note in Glorfindel's voice did not escape Erestor. He felt ashamed of his behaviour and could not look his friend in the eye. He lowered his gaze and opted for lying. "You are mistaken, I do not avoid you. Some of us do have work to do."

Being cruel to others was a good strategy, as he had learned the hard way from Môrlach. For a second, Erestor thought it had worked, as Glorfindel stepped back, obviously surprised by the blow, but he was not one to give up easily. Glorfindel swallowed hard and proceeded, "Erestor, I thought we were at least what you would call friends, though I never hid from you that I wanted more, and after that night... Is there not even a small amount of affection, friendliness between us?"

"No, there is nothing between us; there never was. Now please leave." With these cold words, Erestor walked to stand behind the desk, as if to put one more obstacle between them.

Glorfindel turned to leave, but paused before moving for the door. He whispered, "I am disappointed," and then left, not looking back.

Erestor stood there, feeling hollow. The bitter words exchanged made him feel disgusted with himself. It had gone too far. Now he realized how deeply he had come to value Glorfindel. He regretted his cowardice, his bitterness and most of all having used Glorfindel and then hurting him, resorting to such a low blow, betraying his trust. He was no better than Môrlach, and certainly not worthy of Glorfindel.

* * *

Glorfindel missed his father sorely. He longed to be able to talk to him or not to talk at all, simply walk with him in silence, feeling comforted by his presence. His father had always been his shelter from the world, his closest friend, his haven.

For a while, the new friendship with Erestor helped him feel this loss less severely, but now he was totally alone. He could not talk of this to Saelrusc or anyone else, nor did he want to, so he engaged in long dialogues with himself, trying to understand.

Erestor's thorough rejection baffled him. He felt permanently at loss at his contradictory actions. Somewhere deep inside him lived the hope that Erestor was merely distrusting him because of his former lover. He knew he should give up on the councillor, but his heart would not let him.

Glorfindel was doubly hurt. The friendly camaraderie that had been there before had totally vanished and it was difficult for him to say whether it hurt most to have been rejected in love or betrayed by someone he thought of as a friend.

He occasionally glimpsed Erestor and did his best to keep out of his way. Any contact with him was excruciating. When it could not be avoided at any cost, he tried to behave in the most cold, detached way. He had been humiliated enough in private - there was no need for public disgrace.

He felt lost; his life was a complete failure. He could not lead his House, he could not keep his friends and he could not even please a lover. So he moped around feeling sorry for himself.

This was not, however, the way he had been brought up to be. His father had always taught him to strive against obstacles, not to let adversity submerge him, so after a while he made a decision. He would start with his House. It was what he owed to his father and was his first duty.

At first, the task seemed insurmountable, but gradually his voice started to be heard. It was, oddly, a gift from Erestor. All those conversations on politics, strategy and tactics had proven very instructive. He had been taught the classical theory of warfare, of course, as well as principles in politics and House management, but it was Erestor's original and brilliant thought that led him to open his eyes to a veiled, more profound reality. The older councillors, who had been so keen to keep him out of the way, started to discuss his suggestions instead of pushing them aside indulgently.

As time went by, Glorfindel came fully into his role as leader of his House. He no longer felt worthless and was convinced that his father would be proud of him, from afar in the Halls of Mandos. The number of his friends grew and he was widely respected, no longer a silly boy trying to fit into his father's shoes.

He couldn't help but wonder if Erestor thought of him, if he felt sorry for having rejected him. Not that he meant to give him another chance. "No, not that," he insisted to himself, but happy images of them together pervaded his dreams. Memories of their time together as friends, fantasies that would never come true and that night.

To forget would be a blessing, but that was another dream. Hating Erestor was an option but it was proving to be very difficult. He met Erestor more often now, owing to their responsibilities. It still hurt deeply, but it had become easier. Time wears down many sharp edges.

His one night lover and former friend of two years was lonelier than ever. He remained silent for so long that he could merge with the shadows and be forgotten unless Ecthelion asked him directly to explain a finer point.

Then he would speak as sparingly as possible. Most people were oblivious to Erestor's presence all the time, but not Glorfindel. His eyes were drawn over and over again to where he stood. He always looked haunted; his eyes sad, absent, and it hurt Glorfindel. It hurt because he wanted to take that sadness away and could not, and it hurt because he did not want to feel anything more, not for Erestor, nor for anyone else.

* * *

Gondolin had become intolerable to Erestor. Strange how time rolled by, sometimes with a frightful speed, and the remorse still haunted him so intensely.

Glorfindel had become a true leader. Erestor watched him and felt strangely proud and happy for him. It only saddened him that Glorfindel did not take a wife. He deserved to be happy and forget that night ever happened and that they had ever met. But there was time, and all of Gondolin had come to admire and respect him. Surely someone would come along soon.

After much insistence, Turgon had allowed Aredhel to visit Celegorn and Caranthir in Himlad. She was to be escorted by Glorfindel, Ecthelion and Egalmoth. Erestor shuddered at the thought of Fëanor's sons. His disgust for the past was as present as ever.

Ecthelion was torn between having him stay and take care of his House and taking him with him. Erestor had never been too clear on his motives for wanting distance from the House of Fëanor, but Ecthelion knew he had fought at Alqualondë. The rest would probably be quite obvious, Erestor reckoned.

The final decision came from Turgon himself. He wanted the best of the chosen Houses to guard his sister. Erestor arranged for a private audience and begged him to reconsider.

"My Lord, I am no swordsman. I am merely an obscure book keeper," he said.

"You are more than that." Turgon shook his head indulgently. "Always running from something."

Erestor was surprised that Turgon remembered him. "I wish to avoid this, yes. So you remember me, my Lord. Is it fair to assume you also remember my reasons?"

"I do, and I sympathise. But you know how much I need more than strong arms to accompany my sister. I'm sure your talents will be of great use." Turgon's tone left no margin for doubts. Erestor thanked him for his time and left.

Turgon was right; he was always running from something. And he would run now. A plan started forming in his head.

* * *

They had been riding for four days. Erestor knew this was the best time to leave. It pained him to be disloyal to Ecthelion, but he felt he had no choice. He waited until late in the night and sneaked out of the camp perimeter. It had been almost too easy. A voice behind him startled him. "Is that you, Erestor?"

"No, not Glorfindel, of all people," he thought. He stood still, hoping he would be confounded by the shadows, but it was too late. Glorfindel was upon him and held his arm.

"Where are you going at this hour?" He looked more closely and saw Erestor's bag. "So, it seems you are running in the night. Why? Oh forgive me, we must never ask Master Erestor why - that would be an offence, would it not?" Glorfindel's bitterness shone in every word and stung Erestor.

"My friend, that was so long ago," he tried to soothe.

"It was yesterday!" Glorfindel's grip on his arm tightened. "Now tell me, just what do you think you are doing?"

"I am leaving."

"You might not hold my intellectual skills or those of any other, for that matter, in high regard, but I could guess as much on my own."

"Please, Glorfindel. I cannot meet Fëanor's sons."

"Why? Have you bedded them and left them with no explanation, but bitter, unfair words?"

Erestor was alarmed by Glorfindel's voice rising, but his remark was painfully truthful. "I am sorry," he offered. At that moment he felt like holding Glorfindel, but that was the one thing he could never do.

"Oh, how nice of him. He is sorry." Bitterness again, spread generously in every word. This was not the Glorfindel he had known.

"More than you think." Erestor made a dry swallow.

Glorfindel inspired deeply and slightly loosened his grip on Erestor's arms. He regretted having spoken thus, having let Erestor know that he still hurt.

"So, you will leave Ecthelion, who trusts you above none other, without a word?"

"I know, Glorfindel. Let him go." Ecthelion's voice was hushed but unmistakable.

"Ecthelion." Glorfindel loosened his grip further.

"Erestor has good motive for leaving and he has not betrayed my trust. Letting him go might bring Turgon's wrath on me, but I owe Erestor that much."

"Please Glorfindel. Do not judge me so harshly for leaving."

"But why? What could be so grave that would make you so keenly avoid my cousins?"

"I was at Alqualondë. I fought there. They represent everything I loathe about myself. And I represent to them a coward who left and fought no more. Besides, this may be my only chance to leave Gondolin. Life has been rather joyless there, lately. Maybe it is a fair punishment. Will you make me endure it? I could not blame you for that."

Erestor had once more surprised Glorfindel. He had to make a decision quickly before anyone came, but it was beyond him. He realized he still held Erestor's arm.

"Go," he heard himself say.

Erestor always had known that Glorfindel was a better person but he had not expected this generosity from him, when he knew how hurt he still was. For once he was spontaneous and held Glorfindel tightly before leaving.

* * *

Erestor went back to Eglarest. He had missed the sea. At least there was some comfort there. Círdan had taken him back with no hint of reproach and given him some responsibilities.

There he buried himself in books; there was so much to learn and they could not possibly hurt him. When some of his few friends advised him to live more, he simply retorted, "What is the point of being a Firstborn if you have to make choices with your time like mortals?" That was what he felt. His life could be put on hold indefinitely.

He worked all day long and then, during the last hours of natural light, he climbed through the dense woods in the hills, and then descended on to a small, secluded pebble beach, and sat there until the fading of the light drove him away. In summer, he sometimes forgot himself and slept there. There were some meadows, further away, but he rarely walked in their direction. They reminded him too much of those late afternoons in Gondolin.

The beauty of his cove touched him. He could not say he found true peace there, but he felt appeased. Conflicting thoughts still assailed him, but he dismissed them quickly. There was beauty and cleanness in leaving all doubts behind.

Erestor had learned to enjoy a dull life. In fact, dull was his greatest desire. This forged peace was broken by the news of the fall of Gondolin.

The cove was no longer a haven. Everything there sung of Glorfindel. The piercing blue sky sung of his eyes; the sun reflected on that bluest of seas was his light, his kindness; the rustling of leaves naught but his voice and the freshness, the purity of his spirit; the grass yellowing under the summer sunsets spoke of his hair and all of those forever gone afternoons.

Glorfindel had been the best part of his life. Somehow, Mandos did not seem so bad now. Môrlach had haunted him for long enough, but now was merely a shadow.

Losing Glorfindel for the second time hurt, but it was almost sweet. There was no guilt now; only longing for what could not be recovered and sweet memories of better times.

Now he could not silence his inner voice. Erestor regretted he had striven so hard to push Glorfindel away. He could never understand that about himself. He said to the world and to himself that solitude was a blessing. How many times had quoted that old verse, "Sweet is to live alone," in a cold tone to anyone who dared to try being a match maker? Yet, when he felt particularly harsh on himself, Erestor brought himself to face his one secret, flickering desire - to be loved, or at least to be understood.

Glorfindel had seen him. Not like Môrlach, with devious intentions, but through the eyes of affection, or love, whatever that was. Erestor knew he had been selfish and that he had let his life become a dim hole. He also knew he should not blame Môrlach for his failure in love. Everything he had endured at his hands was his responsibility too. He could look at his past in a more detached way, and felt no overwhelming guilt and self-loathing as before. Only regret, for letting a strange symmetry take over his relationship with Glorfindel.

* * *

**Eregion, 1650 Second Age**

Erestor was happy. Well, as happy as someone like him could ever be. He had run from everybody and then from himself, but time had taught him to believe and to accept himself and others. Life might not be blissful, not the warm melting together he had once wished for, but it was painless and it had its simple pleasures. That was something.

He had a small house of his own now in Eregion; a precious gift from Celeborn as a reward for his work. It had a minute garden enclosed by high walls in the back. There, Erestor let everything grow wild and free. The lilac on one wall was invading the neighbour's property and the jasmine could be scented in the street. Some belladonnas grew in autumn, near the east wall, and there was peppermint, camomile and some thyme. The only care Erestor provided to the garden was a bit of watering in the summer. The only reason for this was to keep the knee-high grass from yellowing. It would remind him too much of those days in the company of Glorfindel. He had learned that the hardest way in his first summer there, and had never forgotten the lesson since.

His closest friends sometimes made joking remarks about the state of his garden and how it contrasted with his personality, but he never bothered to explain. The garden brought him peace that way; something like the cove in Eglarest. It was the only place in his life that he had not drowned in sterile order.

Erestor mused many times if it was possible to be loved at all. Could it be, really, that that intimacy was not damaging at all for some? He did know many happy couples, people who trusted their partners, who lit up when their better halves walked into the room, people who shared their lives with others. Yes, love was attainable and he now felt ready for love, but there was no one he would have.

At night, he lay in his bed and imagined a lover beside him. His only desire was to hold someone. He no longer felt repulsion for sex or for his body, nor was he convinced it was merely a way of inflicting pain and manipulating another; that part of him was dead and he did not miss it.

Maybe one day he could fall in love with someone, marry and have children. That would be nice, impossible as it seemed. Something inside told him he was already bound to someone else. An indefinable feeling tied him to Glorfindel, even now. He had never felt that with Môrlach. After that night in the library, he had expected to be judged by the Valar for breaking the oath his body had made to Môrlach, but Manwë never showed himself. Was he allowed to switch lovers? That would seem odd, but surely being bound to Môrlach forever would be too cruel a fate? Who knew the designs of the Valar, especially in the case of such ones as himself.

Glorfindel's sudden appearance ruined this little scheme. The anonymous lover he held in his reveries started to have blond hair and blue eyes. Sometimes he almost could feel warm, full lips brushing his neck before drifting into sleep. Once in a while, he tried to imagine himself and Glorfindel going further than spooning together, but he felt absolutely no desire. Only deep, intense affection.

However, that affection did not seem to be returned. Erestor remembered that little dialogue from their first meeting.

"So the news was true! Glorfindel, I cannot believe my eyes! How is this possible? Why are you not in Aman?" As he spoke, he moved his hands up and then let them fall a couple of times, unsure if he was allowed to touch Glorfindel, but needing proof of what his eyes shown him.

For a minute he thought Glorfindel had not recognized him, but he then said simply, "Yes, I've returned," in the most neutral tone.

Erestor could not discern animosity in his voice, only a strange detachment, an indifference that had been absent in the Glorfindel of Gondolin. Still the questions kept popping from his lips. "Are you settled already? Are you just passing through? Is there anything I can do for you?"

Glorfindel looked around, almost as if serching for a kind translator, before answering the questions in the same tone as before. "Yes, thank you, I am settled."

Erestor was ecstatic, but this aloofness was disturbing. He now knew not what to say. A friend of his was passing by and stopped to greet them. After the first hello, he shot his question, proud that he had met Glorfindel before Erestor, "So you have met the legendary Balrog slayer?"

Erestor thought he saw a thunder cloud running swiftly across Glorfindel's face, but no, it must have been a change in the light coming from the window. Glorfindel remained neutral.

"Yes, I have." What more could be said?

Glorfindel nodded curtly and left them both. Erestor felt the urge to throttle his friend.

As these random meetings took place during the following weeks, Erestor noticed that Glorfindel behaved that way towards everybody. He had felt a little hurt by that initial coldness, but not anymore. He wanted to approach him, to gain his friendship once more, but he was not sure how.

Glorfindel was a mystery. The way he had arrived from Mandos to Middle-earth had not been divulged, nor could Erestor discern the reasons behind his reserve. Had his fall and Mandos left scars? What could have taken his warmth and replaced it with that cold serenity?

He became obsessed with this new Glorfindel. He found himself scribbling Glorfindel's name in the corners of papers. He scratched them away furiously before anyone could read this silent admission. But the truth remained, and there was no ink in all of Arda that could cover it: he missed Glorfindel. More than missing, he longed for his friend and for his one time lover. Glorfindel was the best person he had ever met.

Erestor was afraid he was losing his mind. One day he would betray himself in the presence of others, he was sure. Glorfindel's name escaped his lips sometimes, during daytime when he was absorbed in thought. Ridicule haunted him, but he chose to ignore it. He seized every opportunity to be near Glorfindel. As Celebrimbor acknowledged Glorfindel's worth and delegated the command of part of Eregion's guard to him, their meetings became more frequent.

Erestor now actually regretted having accepted his cottage. Returning home every night impaired his chances of spending further time with Glorfindel. Any pretext would do.

He often found himself staring at his former friend. He imagined himself kissing Glorfindel, pressing their lips together, slowly parting them; nibbling on Glorfindel's lower lip and tracing his tongue on that sweet, silky skin just below the inner rim. He wanted to tease Glorfindel's tongue with his own and peek from under his eyelids to find an enthralled expression on his face. He wanted to break the kiss and start it over again and again and hear Glorfindel sighing.

He missed so much kissing someone. Those imaginary kisses were a way of rewriting the past. How he wished he could actually do that. But time never went back, not even for the ones the Valar loved and certainly not for him. He learned to forgive himself, but there was still something from the past holding him, some permanent guilt and regret, painted in faded colours on his soul.

* * *

It was a stalemate. Erestor had tried all that he could, but Glorfindel's reserve and politeness were insurmountable. Nothing indicated that this would ever change, so Erestor took what scraps of Glorfindel's attention he could and felt almost grateful.

He certainly was not expecting that Glorfindel would ever jump to his defence as he did.

It was yet another long fruitless council meeting, as they had been for the last few months. Erestor had avoided asserting himself before, for he knew his opinion was not popular, but now he felt he had no choice. He stood up and told the council what he thought to Celebrimbor's dismay. "Are we so blind we cannot see we are being manipulated? We must stand for ourselves and this evil must be cut at its root."

Amidst huffing and disdainful whispering came one loud answer: "Must we be pushed to war by a coward who never once picked up a sword to defend his city?"

Glorfindel rose so swiftly his chair almost fell back. "You have no right to insult Master Erestor. He has done more for Eregion than you could ever and he if he chooses not to fight with his arms and a sword, he has very good reason for it. Besides, he is right in what he says."

The elf who had spoken opened his mouth to retort, but this was the legendary Glorfindel of Gondolin. Any harsh word against him would not be welcomed by others.

Celebrimbor adjourned the meeting. Erestor left swiftly, seeking refuge in the library. This sort of comment on his lack of military prowess was not uncommon. Glorfindel's intervention was, however, completely astounding.

Grim dejá vu inundated him when he saw Glorfindel entering the room. Erestor felt he should thank him, but the right words strayed from his lips.

Glorfindel broke the silence. "You must not mind them. They are fools and know nothing."

"I did not deserve your defence, Glorfindel, but I appreciated the sign of friendship."

"Erestor..." Glorfindel's tone was soft, somewhere between disappointment and reproach.

Words broke uncensored from Erestor's lips. "An eternity ago you asked if there was nothing between us, affection, friendship, anything. I was cruel to you then. I have regretted it ever since."

"You say this because you feel grateful, nothing more. I am not sure how to judge you anymore, but I have no more illusions on your feelings for me." Glorfindel shrugged and turned to leave.

"You are wrong! You are so very wrong. If there is one regret in my life, it is those words because they were false, because they were cruel and I hurt you unnecessarily. And because I..." As his voice trailed off and his gaze lowered to the garden outside, Erestor heard Glorfindel proffer the only bitter words he had said since he came back, turning slightly to face him.

"Erestor, you were right then. Do not fool yourself. I may have loved you once, but there is nothing left of that. Do not think that my actions today meant more than mere respect and sense of righteousness."

As he felt the last light dim go out inside him, Erestor slipped momentarily into his old self.

"Thank you for those words, but I do believe I can defend myself and I have done so for long enough without your aid." His tone was cold and sharp as ever and as the unintended words left his lips, he could see the bitterness spreading on Glorfindel's face.

"I was right. Even if I did have the faintest hope, I have it no more. Your words and your tone merely confirmed what my mind knew yet my heart refused to believe. You... I do not wish to continue this conversation, Erestor. Goodbye."

As he turned and left, Erestor felt his eyes stinging with unshed tears. It was hopeless now. He was not in love with Glorfindel and certainly not in lust, but he loved him more deeply and widely than anyone else he had ever met; more than himself. There was no one, no one, in all of Arda with whom he could bear the thought of emotional intimacy but Glorfindel. Erestor had grown to love him because of the greatness of his heart, and because of his generosity and fairness. If he ever could change himself to a better elf, Erestor would have wanted to be someone like Glorfindel, kind and open.

Now he was gone. All hope was gone. Erestor stepped into the garden, thinking of the tales of elves who faded without love. He felt the whole word grow colder and darker, the warmth of late spring dimming, the scent of roses fading, Anor hiding her light. Inside, he was so much colder than he had ever been. Only ashes, darkness and void remained.

* * *

As Glorfindel briskly walked away, he kept repeating to himself, "Stupid, stupid, how could you ever think he could change, he would change? Why are you even thinking of this? You knew; you have known this forever. Why this old obsession?"

Glorfindel started running. He did not want these feelings in him, he did not want this weight on his heart and he certainly did not want to think of Erestor. Yet his old flame looked so forlorn as he left. The expression on Erestor's face haunted him.

Maybe he had been unfair. Maybe he was behaving like everyone else, not seeing that exasperating duality always present in Erestor. "Stop this, stop this right now! You are not making excuses for him any more; have some self respect for once!"

He needed to be alone. The turmoil inside burned him. He went to the stables and readied his horse. The familiar movements had a soothing effect, as well as the ride after. Erestor had shattered the peace he had found in Mandos. He felt fire running through his veins, blazing his heart, scorching his mind. Erestor, always Erestor, swirling in his mind, crushing his heart. Pity, hate, love, desire, regret, so many contradictions. How could he have survived cruelty, rejection, disloyalty, even death and still feel this way?

Maybe it was deserved. He had done the same to Erestor, had he not? He had destroyed the precious peace Erestor had found in Gondolin. Now, more than ever, he could understand him, we could feel that confusion, that intensity, but he wanted none of that in his life.

Whatever his reasons were, Glorfindel knew he had behaved below himself once more. Erestor had had that effect on him since the very first time they had met. All seemed fair game, but what he had done was wrong. He should apologise and forget this nonsense, return to his calm self, his detached self; but it would not be now, while he felt this fire inside him.

He let a week go by, but then forced himself to do what he should. Erestor was not hard to find.

"I came to apologise." Glorfindel's deep voice echoed in the permanently cold hall outside the library, where he had met Erestor, who was leaving late in the night.

Erestor turned, not believing his ears. He had been very certain that the little scene would be their last intimate conversation ever, but Glorfindel's presence contradicted that.

Glorfindel continued, "I had no right to be cruel."

Erestor somehow found his voice. "You do not need to apologise. You must not. Every unkind word I hear, I have deserved. If not for others, at least for what I have done to you. Not that it may bring you any comfort, or matter to you anymore, but to me it is an atonement of sorts."

Erestor's voice sounded hollow, his eyes were low on the ground. Glorfindel felt compassion and again that will to hold him and kiss it away. He brushed those thoughts aside but the compassion remained.

"You must not punish yourself so harshly for the past. Do you not see that you have been doing it forever, that it is time to stop? You are forgiven for my part."

"Oh, but I wish I was not! Your forgiveness means that all hope is gone. Pardon is naught but another word for indifference." Erestor could not believe that he was baring himself like this, but it was time. He had nothing left to lose; his dignity and self-control did not seem now as important as fighting for Glorfindel, hopeless as it was.

"You are not indifferent to me, Erestor." Glorfindel took one step closer. Erestor looked up, almost allowing hope to shine. Glorfindel continued, "There is too much between us."

"But you said..." Erestor started, but then he simply lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Glorfindel, kissing him.

Erestor did not think of his actions; for once he let his feelings speak louder. He had a choice, as always, but long years of loneliness and pondering had shown him that he had been wrong in not expressing his feelings, in fearing so much being hurt and humiliated.

Glorfindel was so surprised that he almost stepped back. The words he said were not meant as Erestor took them, but now that he had him once more in his arms, Glorfindel felt something stir inside, something he had spent millennia fighting and thought long forgotten. That kiss condensed so many broken dreams and all those lonely days and nights. It was the token of love for which he had waited for millennia and which had come when he waited for it no more.

Tentatively, he placed his arms around Erestor. As he did so, the other elf pressed himself closer. Glorfindel's mind was screaming this was a mistake he would bitterly regret, but all he wanted was to hold Erestor tight.

They broke off the kiss but remained in the embrace, cheek to cheek. Glorfindel could feel Erestor gasping, emotion stirring his body.

The shadow of a smile rose to his lips - so this was what hid beneath. Erestor could cry; Erestor could feel something beyond bitterness and isolation, and what he felt was for him. His mind was still shouting that this was not love, it was merely loneliness, millennia-long loneliness, that sought to be undone in his arms; that once more he was an instrument. His heart, though, insisted the risk was worth taking.

* * *

 

Now they lay together.

Glorfindel knew it was less than wise to have let things go so fast, yet how fast was that? They had been involved in one way or another for centuries, millennia, in fact.

He had taken Erestor to his rooms because the hall was hardly the best place to discuss intimate matters and he felt safer there, in his own territory. Erestor was as intimidating in his vulnerability as he had been in his strength and Glorfindel feared that the precious moment could be shattered by a sudden bout of volubility. When that happened, he wanted to be standing on both his feet and let the storm go over and around him.

Erestor was awfully quiet. He had always been a quiet person with sparse bursts of alacrity and Glorfindel had found that charming and intriguing, but right now he would welcome a bit of chattering, anything that would break the awkward, unsettling silence.

He had watched the other elf all his life and had experienced a wide range of feelings for him. At one point, he thought he knew Erestor better than any other, at another he felt completely ignorant and punished by his pretension. He had finally settled for a median: he did know Erestor better than most, but not nearly enough; he simply did not know what to make of this shaken being that had fallen in his arms. He sat Erestor on his bed; his eyes were red and he occasionally sniffed discreetly. Glorfindel handed him a handkerchief. He cleared his throat and offered Erestor some tea; his voice sounded offensive to his own ears, almost echoing in his austere room; dry and crackled; cold.

Erestor's surprised gaze reminded him of a hurt puppy. Never had Glorfindel seen this much exposure in his face. Erestor averted his eyes, turning them on the ground. In a barely audible voice he asked, "I suppose this is when you tell me the kiss was a mistake and that you feel nothing but pity for me. Or less than that."

The one thing Glorfindel had never expected to find in Erestor, not even now, in the midst of such openness, was frailty. Yes, he pitied Erestor, as he had pitied himself for long years, but this was far from exhausting all he felt. He hated Erestor, still. He had hated him long. He had fought at first to hate him, to replace all that he had adored with loathing, then he had fought to forget him completely, to be cleansed of all memory of his touch, of his eyes, of his words; he had fought to be cleansed of all feeling. He had failed miserably. He still hated Erestor as much as he had loved him. He still loved Erestor more than he loved himself, more than he loved to hate him, and this love was greater than all the things time could undo.

Erestor's pain, loneliness and frailty were his own. How could he deny him anything, especially his love, all he had to give, really? He knelt in front of Erestor and placed his hands on his thighs. Not a word crossed his mind, except "no". He heard a strange voice that was not his own say it. He saw the emotions crossing Erestor's face as clouds in a winter sky. "No," he repeated, still not knowing how or why these words came to his lips.

Erestor touched one of his hands ever so slightly, while searching his eyes. The questioning hand was cold and damp. Glorfindel held it to his chest, trying to warm it. His eyes never left Erestor's, who swayed as if he meant to kiss him again and had stopped himself short of it. They were now so close again, yet so distant; Glorfindel knew it was time to close that widest of gaps. He kissed Erestor and pulled him from the bed to his chest while he lay on his back.

Erestor was ever the little surprise. His total surrender in making love caught Glorfindel off his guard. There were no more reserved thoughts, no more strife for dominion or cruel teasing or brutality; only complete, sweet surrender. So unlike that night, a lifetime ago, and infinitely much better.

Erestor let Glorfindel worship his body. The smallest caress brought tears to his eyes until he stopped trying to hide them and let them run free. A hand on his cheek made him catch his breath. A butterfly kiss on his lips tore a gasp from his mouth.

Glorfindel slowly unclothed them and spread kisses over Erestor's body. At every chance he went back and kissed Erestor tenderly on the lips, almost chastely. After a while he stopped trying to dry the tears and just held Erestor close to him, petting his hair and whispering comforting words as if to a child. Erestor clung to him, sighing deeply. He kissed Glorfindel, slowly, deeply; he kissed him like he had dreamed so many times, with tenderness and accuracy. Every movement had been rehearsed a thousand times in his head. His hands travelled from Glorfindel's shoulders to frame his face. He deepened the kiss. Glorfindel's mouth was pure nectar. He parted slightly and watched his lover sigh. A smirk twitched Erestor's lips before he claimed those luscious lips once more. The time for crying had passed. Glorfindel yielded to that sweetness for he had no choice. He could feel desire arriving insidiously, submerging them, awakening Erestor's body as well as his own.

Erestor broke the kiss and rose, pulling Glorfindel with him. "Not on the floor," he answered the silent question and was fully understood. He sprawled on the bed invitingly, answering Glorfindel's questioning stare with a single nod, and reached out his hands to pull him down on to him.

This was desire. Long gone, long forgotten and now here, overwhelming, submerging them. Hands moving faster, eagerly, clumsily. Lips bruising and soothing, teeth breaking skin and tongues healing it, fingers digging into the flesh, followed by feather light touches, shuddered sighs amidst gasps. Muscles tensed underneath soft skin, bodies moved, twined in lust, in love. A drop of sweat was promptly licked; a trace left by a salty tear erased. Curtains of hair, dark and fair mingled. Hunger. Losing the sense of self, ignoring where the other began or ended. And warmth. Bliss.

Hours later, as they lay in each other's arms, Erestor felt soothed, whole, finally. Somewhere inside, the old insecurity seemed to be drowning. He could still hear the tainted words whispered from afar: this embrace could mean nothing; it could be something Glorfindel had indulged in because he pitied him or was merely lonely. He could not believe Glorfindel would ever hurt anyone deliberately, but these were dangerous games. Dangerous for him. He did not care. This was a voice from the past and its time had passed irrevocably.

While making love, Erestor was surprised by the intensity of his own feelings. Even after realizing he loved Glorfindel as deeply as he would ever love anyone, he did not think it was possible for him to feel in love again, to feel that giddiness inside, to shudder at every touch and lust after him senselessly. He discarded caution and whispered, "I am in love with you. Cast me away, forsake me if you will, but know this is true."

He smiled at his own words. "I'm sorry. I was not aiming at bad poetry."

Glorfindel chuckled "No other words could please me more." He kissed Erestor softly on his hair. There was so much he wanted to tell him, but he was still afraid. Erestor had hurt him deeply before. It was so hard to let go of the past and trust him now.

Erestor nuzzled his neck and asked, "Hold me closer... tighter."

Glorfindel obeyed, chuckling. "Tighter than this and I might have to take you to the healers."

Erestor mumbled something as he drifted into sleep. It could have been, "No one near but you. No one," but Glorfindel was not sure. Whatever it was, it felt right at that moment, and that was his last thought before he too drifted into the dream realm.

* * *

Glorfindel woke in the next morning with the sunlight bathing his face. During the night they had shifted positions and now he was spooning Erestor, who covered his face with an arm. He inhaled deeply the scent of his lover and nuzzled his hair. He felt relaxed, happy, but at the same time apprehensive. It was so hard to believe this was real and to hope Erestor would not shut him out and reject him once more as the day moved on.

He did not know how to behave. His anxiety began to grow and his heart raced as the possibilities, all too real, crossed his mind. Still, he could not bring himself to leave the bed and relinquish Erestor's warmth.

Soon Erestor woke too and stretched whilst leaning into his chest. It felt delicious. It should have been so on every morning of their lives, Glorfindel mused. He waited patiently for the other elf to take the initiative, but Erestor remained silent while turning to face him. He smiled under sleepy eyes before closing them again and leaning closer. Glorfindel held him and watched as he tried to elude the morning light on his shoulder and find sleep again. This closeness was something he had far thought out of his reach. His eyes stung as he thought about how long and how hard he had striven to forget Erestor. Had he been honest with himself, he would have seen he was always present in his heart, if not his mind.

The sun shone in his lover's hair, making it gleam in a rich hue of chocolate. The linen of the sheets felt strangely arousing on his skin - these were like any other sheets he had used before. The morning was glorious, but a shadow insisted on spreading through his mind, reminding him of another luminous and oh so very distant morning and of all the bitterness that had followed it. Erestor was here, but how long would he stay? The tension made him shift and Erestor finally gave up trying to conjure sleep again.

His first words were spoken to Glorfindel's shoulder and came out hushed. "Do you have duties this morning?"

Glorfindel sighed; this was not what he needed to hear. However, he decided to play along. "Later, near noon."

"Good," was the laconic answer, followed by another snuggling motion. Glorfindel thought Erestor would settle in sleep, but a mischievous hand trailed down his back as a growing erection pressed on his thigh. It might have not been the renewed promise of eternal love he expected but it felt good. Duty might have to wait.

* * *

Now Erestor set in front of him the documents he needed to take care of this afternoon. He had lost an entire morning of work, but that did not seem so grave, after all. On the previous day, he had been anxious to get to those luscious inventory reports, but now they brought a mist of sleep to his eyes. On a separate piece of paper he once more started to scribble Glorfindel's name. He did not bother to cover it as before.

As he tried to concentrate on his report, he drew exuberant little stars below his lover's name, and below those, the happiest little spirals. He was behaving like an elfling, but at that moment he only wanted to enjoy that happiness. After reading the first paragraph for the third time without grasping the slightest idea, Erestor reclined and stared dreamily at the wall. As the afternoon went on, he slowly finished reading the report and took the appropriate measures regarding the dullest wheat stocks he had ever encountered.

Later on that day, they met alone after dinner, outside Glorfindel's rooms. Glorfindel barely looked at Erestor, but opened the door and moved for him to pass. Inside, he kept silent; he still had the nagging suspicion that the previous night could have meant nothing for Erestor.

Erestor also felt insecure; Glorfindel had every reason to regret what had happened. Still, he decided he would make an effort. He stepped in closer and touched Glorfindel's cheek lightly. "Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing." Glorfindel dared to glance at Erestor's eyes. Somehow it hurt to do so. Should love be like this? Should your lover be someone inscrutable? He looked away. His body almost pulled him forward into Erestor's arms, but his heart held him back, now afraid of plunging in. The contradiction was almost risible.

Erestor gathered all his courage and stepped closer. "Then will you not kiss me?" His hand had stopped caressing Glorfindel's face and was now diving into the golden mass of his hair. He could pull him into a kiss easily, but it did not feel right. Glorfindel had his own bridges to cross.

Slowly, Glorfindel closed the gap between them and brushed his lips to Erestor's, not looking once into his eyes.

As they melted together in an embrace, Erestor's thoughts raced across the desert plain that separated them. He would cross it, no matter what. This was his vow to Glorfindel.

* * *

**Imladris, 2 Fourth Age**

This was their last evening in Imladris. They were leaving again. Men were foolish to think immortality came without its cost. Everything they had loved, they had lived long enough to lose.

Glorfindel had set a light trot, eager to see everything he could one last time and they kept silent. As they rode under the golden light of late afternoon, Erestor mused on the course of their lives.

This was home. They had found their place in Imladris and a good friend in Elrond. His children had become like their own, replacing those they could never have. Of all the places Erestor had helped to build, Imladris was the one he cherished the most; it had been built in love. Plans were made, stones were set, not to obliterate memory and feeling, but to give something to others. And Glorfindel had been there by his side. If beauty could be measured in numbers, there would have to be a different scale for Imladris.

There was one thing Erestor had learned: happiness did not equal perfection. Accepting each other had been difficult. He would always remember the shock of their first fight after coming together in Eregion. They had been together for roughly a month, spent in utter bliss, and he was very sure they would be happy evermore. The lessons life had thought him about its intrinsic imperfection had not sunk in yet.

Erestor had decided to break the vow he had made at Alquanlondë; he had, after all, broken the vow his heart and his body had made to Glorfindel, so he now could perfectly break another vow and shed blood again. Anyway, orcs were more distant kin than Teleri, he thought, not without a pinch of sarcasm.

He would do all he could to make sure Glorfindel was never in danger; he had returned Arda and there would not be a second time, should he perish. Erestor could not have that. He knew it was ridiculous, his insignificant self defending one of the deadliest warriors that had ever lived, but he had no choice. Glorfindel refused to see that. He even appealed to Celebrimbor, who turned the deaf ear. It was not his place to solve lover's quarrels.

Glorfindel feared for Erestor. He could not comprehend this sudden interest in field matters; Erestor had not fought in millennia, since he was little more than an elfling. There were many other elves willing and able to do the job. After the first small battle he understood; Erestor hardly let anyone come near him. He had an unique and quite effective style - that Glorfindel would hand him - but he did not need Erestor's protection, for Valar's sake. The rows seemed endless, but Glorfindel slowly resigned. The bubble had burst, but they had lived enough to soon realize this was not the end of happiness.

There were other problems. Glorfindel wanted to move to Erestor's cottage; he had found it charming, especially the little jungle in the back. Erestor, now with more work than ever, trying to reconcile a lover, weapons practice, and his regular work, wanted to live in Glorfindel's rooms. They behaved like spoiled children, but felt happy all the same. Somehow, these rows contributed to establish a feeling of intimacy and trust.

Their lives were filled with joy, in the midst of the bleakness that abated on them all. They slowly settled in their own strange little routine. Some days were almost like Gondolin, but better. Love had brought Glorfindel to connect with the world once more. He no longer looked aloof or detached, but radiant. Erestor still merged with shadows, he would always be like that, but he lit up when he had Glorfindel all for himself, at night.

The occasional dispute actually had its benefits, later. Life was an endless cliché and it felt good. Nothing but a succession of precious, trivial moments.

They were not apart from their world, however. War had come upon them and their new found home destroyed. They built another one, together, in Imladris. Then war again, so soon, but they survived. Shadows grew everywhere and more war was to come soon. After the Witch King incident in Angmar, Erestor did not talk to Glorfindel for almost a month. Glorfindel bent at last and promised he would be more careful. Later, when he decided to save the hobbits from his old friend, the Nazgûl, Erestor felt so enraged he almost foamed at the mouth. He knew, however, Glorfindel was like that and nothing could be done about it, but it still was exasperating.

Erestor returned to the present as they came to the crest of the highest hill and stopped with the sun setting on their backs. The valley was golden, shimmering before their eyes in all its glory for the last time. Long, green shadows spread among the gold; it hurt to leave behind such beauty, but it was time.

Erestor broke the comfortable silence. "I still feel unworthy of Aman."

"I know. I do not share your burden but I too feel impure." Glorfindel paused and then added, "I do think we have done our best to attain redemption."

Erestor refused to be invaded by the feeling of loss. Never again. He turned to the orange light and without warning spurred his horse on. Glorfindel could never resist a challenge and their last memory of this place of joy and beauty should be a happy one.

He heard behind him Asfaloth's hoofs gaining terrain. Life would always have traces of nostalgia, but it was sweet.

_Finis  
July 2004_


End file.
